


Some Assemblage Required

by laylee



Category: Captain America (2011), Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Team Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-15
Updated: 2012-06-15
Packaged: 2017-11-07 19:19:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/434484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laylee/pseuds/laylee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve's had a rough day and Bucky fusses over him. Of course the rest of the team think the time is ripe for a barbeque, and who's to say no to Thor when he's wearing shorts?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Assemblage Required

**Author's Note:**

> If you think you're seeing double, don't be alarmed. I'm just reposting this because I wasn't very happy with it the first time around. But now the wonderful [Celli](http://archiveofourown.org/users/celli/pseuds/celli) has gone over it with a fine tooth comb and it's in much better shape than it was before.
> 
> This started out life as a bit of fluffy H/C, but somewhere along the line it grew some feels. I blame it all on Bucky. Once again, apologies for the cheesy title. It really was the best fit.

"Here, drink this.”

Steve looked up and eyed the glass Bucky was offering him with something bordering on suspicion.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Orange juice.”

“Orange juice?”

“Yes.”

“Pulp-free?”

“ _Yes_.”

Steve paused to consider it again and it took all of Bucky’s patience to not just dump it over his head. Fortunately Steve saved himself from a sticky shower when he finally accepted the glass and drank the juice down in two big gulps.

“Thanks.”

“Do you want anything else?” Bucky asked.

“I’m good,” Steve replied as he handed back the glass and stretched out on the couch.

“You sure about that?”

“Yes.”

“Have you taken your meds?”

“Yes.”

“Want me to refill the icepack?”

“No, it’s fine.”

“Are you sure? We’ve got plenty of ice.

Steve fixed Bucky with a stern, if slightly bleary, gaze. “Really, I’m fine. Stop fussing.

“Steve,” Bucky said slowly.

“What?”

“You do realise that a building fell on you today?”

“Yes, I am aware of the fact. I was there, remember?”

“Steve?”

“What?”

“A _building_ fell on you today.”

Steve opened his mouth like he was about to contradict him, but really, there was no denying the fact that yes, sometime at around ten o’clock that morning, a building had fallen on him.

Steve gave a weary sigh and closed his eyes. “Yeah, I guess it did.”

Bucky pursed his lips, set the empty glass down on the coffee table and sat beside it. His eyes drifted over Steve, taking in the livid bruise on his cheek, the fading gash on his chin, another big bruise peeking out from under the hem of his boxers. He refused to contemplate what was hidden beneath the soft cotton of Steve’s t-shirt or the way Steve favoured his right arm and shoulder whenever he moved.

He shouldn’t have been surprised by this turn of events. Really, he shouldn’t. He knew full well who they were and what they did. They lived hard, dangerous lives and did hard, dangerous things and they got hurt. Sometimes a lot. It just came with the territory. And it’s not like Bucky didn’t have plenty of experience in looking after a banged-up Steve Rogers. Seriously, if he had a dollar for every time he’d put iodine on a grazed cheek, applied ice to a bruise or strapped up broken ribs on Steve Rogers, he’d be a rich man.

But unlike Steve Rogers it took a lot to put a dent in Captain America and when it did happen, it usually resolved itself so quickly that you’d barely know it was there in the first place. The fact that this recent incident had actually knocked him off his feet for more than a few hours was…disquieting.

And Bucky didn’t want to fuss; he really didn’t. He knew how it grated on Steve when people treated him like he was something fragile and breakable, especially now that he really wasn’t. But he'd always been fairly hopeless where Steve Rogers is concerned, and a building _fell_ on him today, and it was going to take a little while to get over that.

Steve’s eyes blinked open and he offered Bucky a wan smile.

“Hey.”

“Hey, you.” Bucky reached out to touch his shoulder. “How’s the head?”

“How’s _your_ head?” Steve countered, and Bucky shivered as Steve’s fingers ghosted over the butterfly-sutured gash on his forehead.

“I’ll survive,” he said, capturing Steve’s hand and holding on.

“Yeah, me too. Remind me why I do this again.”

“Because you’ve always been too stupid to back away from a fight. Do I really have to go over it again?” Bucky said with mock exasperation, making Steve laugh.

“Idiot punk,” Steve murmured affectionately, and then it was Bucky’s turn to laugh.

“You know,” Bucky ventured after the laughter died down. “As much as I’ve always enjoyed patching you up after a fight, you’d being doing me a favour if you could maybe try to avoid having buildings fall on you in the future.”

“Bucky, I…”

Steve’s mouth twisted into a frown and he shifted uncomfortably on the couch, dropping Bucky’s hand as he did.

“Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have done the same,” he finally said, and it was painful to watch him try and second-guess himself.

They both knew that the minute Steve found out there were people inside that building that there was only one course of action that he would take. Bucky would never expect anything less from him, but it didn’t mean he had to like it.

“I’d at least make sure the building wasn’t going to blow before I ran into it,” Bucky told him. Steve’s impatient huff made Bucky want to grab him by the shoulders and shake.

“You think I had a lot of choice in the matter? Those people could have died, Bucky. Someone had to do _something_.”

“So, Captain America swoops in to save the day again?” Bucky snarked, really without meaning to, but he was so damn angry about Steve deliberately putting himself in harm’s way _again_ that he just couldn’t help it.

“What else was I supposed to do?” Steve shot back fiercely, consternation blurring his features, and Bucky ducked his head as the air was suddenly thick with words unspoken and memories that neither of them care to dredge up again.

“Yeah, okay. I get it,” Bucky said, feeling wretched for pushing at Steve like that when he was down and out.

“Do you?”

Bucky sighed and brought his hand up to cup Steve’s cheek. “More than you realise.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, god help me,” Bucky breathed. He leaned in to press a fervent kiss to Steve’s lips. “Please don’t do it again.”

“Scared you, did I?” Steve asked, all solemn and wide-eyed.

“You could say that, yes.”

Bucky hated that he hadn’t been there when it the whole thing went down, that he’d had to hear it play out over the comms while he and Thor dealt with a couple of the big bad’s thugs a few blocks away from the centre of the action. Once he realised that what Steve was up to and that there was no way he could immediately extricate himself from the job in hand, he’d deliberately kicked himself into Winter Soldier mode, forcing himself to take on the steely, single-mindedness of his other self and concentrate on what he was doing just so he wouldn’t dump everything and bolt simply because Captain America had decided that running into a booby trapped building to rescue the people trapped inside was a sensible thing to do.

It was that same resolve that had pushed him into carrying on until he could safely hand things over to the SHIELD agents waiting in the wings. At that point Winter Soldier dissolved back into Bucky Barnes, and then all bets were off. He ran, as fast as he could, his heart in his mouth and white-hot fear gripping his chest as he sprinted six city blocks, arriving just in time to see them pull Steve from the rubble, bleeding and bruised, but blessedly, miraculously alive.

Scared didn’t even begin to describe it.

“How’s the head going?” Bucky asked again, trying for distraction, as much for himself as anything else.

Steve took in a deep breath and closed his eyes as the fingers of Bucky’s left hand closed around his wrist, the metal dull against the pale skin.

“Still here.”

“Pain killers doing anything?”

“Yes.”

Bucky’s fingers tightened a little and Steve opened his eyes, looking vaguely guilty and a little put out.

“Okay, no,” he admitted ruefully. “But it’s better than it was.”

Concussion had been the major verdict once they got Steve into Medical at SHIELD HQ, along with a wrenched shoulder, bruised ribs and various contusions and lacerations. Anyone else would have died. Bucky was still not entirely sure how Steve had managed not to lose a limb.

“You’re lucky the docs let you go home,” he pointed out.

“It’s not that bad. I’ve had worse and you know it.”

And yeah, Bucky did know it, all too well. It was a pattern Steve had been repeating his entire life and Bucky, for better or for worse - seventy years under the ice or in stasis as a Russian hit man not withstanding - had always been there to patch him up.

Medical had wanted to keep Steve in for observation, and Bucky had pushed as much as he could to try and make him stay put. But Steve enjoyed spending time in a hospital bed about as little as Bucky did, and eventually he wore them all down through sheer, star-spangled determination.

And if truth be told, now that they were home in Brooklyn with the windows open to let in a soft summer breeze and Steve sacked out on the couch, Bucky was glad to be somewhere where he could fuss over him for as long as Steve would let him.

“What time is it?” Steve asked suddenly.

Bucky glanced at the clock on the wall. “Nearly six. Hungry?”

“I could eat,” Steve admitted, and they both laughed as his stomach let out a low, rumbling gurgle to back him up. “What’ve we got, though?”

Bucky sat back and wracked his brain, mentally listing the contents of their pantry and fridge. In the end pretty much all he could come up with was condiments and beer. Buying groceries was not exactly on top of the to-do list when the world is in need of saving. The only reason they had juice is because he’d ‘liberated’ it from the SHIELD commissary while he was waiting for the doctors to finish giving Steve the once-over.

“Take-out?”

Steve wrinkled his nose in protest.

“It’s either that or Saltines and Cheez Whiz.”

“Take-out,” Steve finally agreed and closed his eyes again.

“I’ll go get the menus.”

Bucky pushed himself to his feet and was half way across the living room when he heard a barely perceptible ‘thunk’ on the fire escape.

Steve’s eyes flew open, instantly alert, and he frowned at Bucky. Bucky narrowed his own eyes in response and he carefully edged toward the handgun he kept stashed in the bookcase, only to turn around to find Clint Barton staring at them through the open window.

“Jesus, Barton,” Bucky growled. “Never heard of a door?”

“Anyone can use a door,” Clint said blithely as he stepped through the open window. Somewhere along the line he had changed out of his combat gear into a perfectly ordinary shirt and jeans, a backpack slung over one shoulder, and the only indications that he’d spent most of the preceding twenty-four hours battling a demented harbinger of doom were the graze on his chin and the taped-up knuckles of his left hand.

“Hey, Cap, how’s the head?” Clint asked as he set the backpack on the floor and flopped into an armchair opposite the couch

“Been better,” Steve muttered as he levered himself into a sitting position, shaking Bucky off when he tried to give him a hand.

“Yeah, well, having a building fall on top of you will do that,” Clint said amiably. “I remember there was this one time in the Ukraine at an air force bombing range. I was seeing double for a week. Tash couldn’t stop laughing.”

“I’ll bet.” Bucky crossed his arms over his chest. “Clint, what are you doing here?”

“Oh, hey, I bought corn chips.” Clint announced, completely ignoring the question as he grabbed the backpack and started pulling out Doritos and salsa and what looked like beef jerky.

“Clint?” Steve asked after a moment.

Clint paused and looked up. “Yeah?”

“Did we plan something?”

“Maybe,” he said with an ambiguous shrug. “Tash’ll be here soon. I think she said something about cheesecake.”

“Cheesecake?” Steve and Bucky asked in unison and Clint cocked an eyebrow at them.

“Please don’t do that. It kind of freaks me out.”

“Why is Natalia bringing cheesecake to our apartment?” Bucky demanded to know.

“Because people like cheesecake, obviously,” said a cool, female voice behind him.

Bucky jumped and spun around to find Natasha standing there, looking summery and contained in denim cut-offs and a tank top, strappy sandals on her feet and a large box from _Junior’s_ clutched in her arms. The brace wrapped around her right ankle was only a small distraction, and she was still the only person in the world who could sneak up on him like that. Sometimes Bucky had to wonder if she did it deliberately just to keep him on his toes, or because she really could trust him to not pull a gun on her when she materialized out of nowhere.

“Jesus, how did you get in?”

“Through the front door,” she informed him serenely. “I’ll put this in the fridge. We can have it after the hot dogs.”

“Hot dogs?”

That was the cue for Bruce to appear with a bulging WholeFoods bag in each hand, his cheery grin belying the slightly hollow look in his eyes, a legacy of his come-down from spending most of the day morphed into the big guy.

“I also bought hamburgers,” he announced, holding up the bags proudly to show off his wares. “And potato salad! How are you feeling, Steve?”

“I’m good. I’m fine,” Steve assured him.

Bruce nodded and smiled. “Pleased to hear that.”

“What about the beer?” Clint interrupted, looking hopeful.

“I have brought hearty ale!” Thor boomed as he entered the room and Bucky found himself gaping at him stupidly, not just because he was carrying a case of Sam Adams under each arm, but mostly because he was dressed in cargo shorts, a casual, short-sleeved short shirt and flip-flops.

“Are you wearing shorts?” Clint asked incredulously.

“Are they not appropriate?” Thor’s brow wrinkled in apprehension as he glanced down at the shorts in question. “Jane assured me these garments would be fitting for a gathering amongst friends.”

Clint opened his mouth and Bucky groaned inwardly at the cocky gleam in his eye, but then Steve cut in and said, “You look fine, Thor,” effectively squashing whatever smart remark Clint was about to deliver.

“Are you well, my friend?” Thor asked Steve with due seriousness. “You were somewhat incapacitated when I last set eyes upon you.”

“I’m feeling a lot better,” Steve assured him. “Thank you for asking. Is Jane with you?”

“My Jane and the Lady Darcy are acquiring ice and soda-pop,” Thor informed them gravely. “They will be here in due course.”

“Hey, yeah, party time!” Clint exclaimed loudly, making Steve wince.

“Clint!” Natasha hissed as she re-entered the living room and Clint’s grin faded into a wry twist of the lips. “James, you’ve got a barbeque on the roof, don’t you?”

Strangely enough, they did. A tiny little thing that had been left behind when the people who had lived in the apartment below theirs moved out.

“Yeah, yeah we do.”

“There’s chairs up there too,” Steve added. “And a table.”

“Come on then,” Natasha said, relieving Bruce of one of his bags and ushering everyone toward the door. “Clint, bring the corn chips.”

“Nag, nag, nag,” Clint muttered with a half grin that Natasha echoed as he stuffed his offerings into the backpack and followed Bruce out the door.

“We’ll see you up there, yeah?” Clint threw over his shoulder at Steve and Bucky.

“Okay,” Bucky replied uncertainly.

“Bring plates, cutlery and napkins,” Natasha commanded before she disappeared.

“Will do,” Bucky confirmed, because how could he not? And then finally he and Steve were alone again, Steve looking more than a little dazed while Bucky just stood there and blinked at him dumbly.

“What just happened?” Steve eventually asked.

“I’m not entirely sure,” Bucky said as he sank down next to him on the couch.

“Apparently we’re hosting a barbeque. I don’t remember sending invitations, do you?”

“Like they need an invitation.”

Steve drooped a little, his shoulder pressing against Bucky’s as he sagged into the couch cushions. Bucky slung an arm over his shoulders, drawing him in close. Steve sagged against him even more, his left hand coming to rest on Bucky’s thigh.

“I can ask them to leave if you want.” Bucky said softly, turning his head to nose at Steve’s temple. “If you’re not up to company, that is.”

“No, it’s okay,” Steve replied, placing a kiss against Bucky’s hair. “I’m actually feeling a lot better.”

Bucky lifted his head and pulled back a little, gazing at Steve with new intent. His eyes were certainly a lot clearer, and even the bruise on his cheek was looking far better than it did half an hour ago.

“Goddamn super soldier,” he muttered and Steve had the gall to actually twinkle at him before Bucky pulled him in to kiss the smirk off his lips.

“Okay, so don’t mind me.” Tony’s voice drifted over them and Bucky growled softly, a noise echoed by Steve’s pained whimper, as they pulled apart to find Tony leering at them from the doorway. “I mean, I’m just happy to stand here and enjoy the show, so long as you don’t actually start having sex or anything. You’re not going to start having sex are you? ‘Cause that would just be weird.”

“What is wrong with you?” Steve demanded, but Tony just shrugged and sauntered further into the living room.

“Complete lack of brain to mouth filter, but you should know that by now. Most people find it adorable.”

“We really don’t,” Bucky informed him blandly, but Tony took no notice and continued to survey his surroundings. He was moving a little stiffly, Bucky noted, probably as the result of getting sideswiped by a chuck of masonry when he’d tried to grab Steve in midair after the building went up. Bucky watched him carefully as he prowled around the room, checking out the contents of the bookcase and the corner where Steve kept an easel and a few other art supplies before he finally refocused his attention on Bucky and Steve.

“Oh, hey, I brought S’mores!” he announced proudly, holding out the bag he was carrying.

“We didn’t just bring S’mores,” Pepper assured them briskly as she appeared behind Tony. “I also have cheese and crackers and fruit. How are you feeling, Steve?” she asked as she leaned in to kiss his cheek.

“On the mend,” Steve told her, and for the first time since he saw Steve laid out on a gurney in Medical, Bucky really believed him.

“That’s good to hear,” she murmured and turned to bestow a kiss on Bucky’s cheek. “Hey, James.”

“Hey, Pep.”

“ _Hey James, hey Pep_.” Tony aped. Pepper glared at him and thwaped him with the back of her hand.

“Tony!”

“Um, ow!” Tony whined which made Pepper glare at him even more. He sighed in a very put-upon way and said, “Just so you know, Happy’s also on his way.”

“We ran into Jane and Darcy,” Pepper explained when Steve boggled at her slightly. “Happy’s helping them with the ice and the sodas and also getting some more beer.”

“And the tequila,” Tony added with a slightly manic grin.

Pepper rolled her eyes. Bucky couldn’t remember the last time he saw someone looking so perturbed. “Tony, it’s not going to turn into one of those nights, is it?”

“It will if I have anything to do with it,” Tony stated. “And I have no doubt that given the right amount of encouragement, Barton will back me up.”

He looked around and Bucky could almost hear the gears shift in his mind as he suddenly noted the absence of his fellow Avengers. “And rest of the troops would be where?”

“Oh the roof, getting the barbeque started,” Bucky told him, jerking his thumb toward the ceiling.

“Bruce bought hotdogs and burgers,” Steve informed them solemnly.

“And there’s cheesecake.” Bucky added.

“Well then, my life is complete,” Tony declared, spreading his arms wide for dramatic effect.

“Come on, cheesecake boy,” Pepper said, tugging him toward the door. “We’ll see you upstairs, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Bucky replied as Tony shouted, “Hey, Steve-o, you might wanna consider putting on some pants before you go anywhere near a flame grill,” before Pepper pulled him out the door.

“I, what--?”

Steve shot Bucky a befuddled look and Bucky silently counted down the seconds until--

“Oh, jeez, why didn’t you tell me I was only wearing my shorts?” Steve demanded as his face flushed pink.

And he was so outraged - so very _Steve_ \- that all Bucky could do was throw back his head and laugh.

“Shut up, you clown. It’s not at all funny,” Steve grumbled as he pushed himself off the couch and disappeared into the bedroom.

“It really is,” Bucky called after him because after the day they’ve had, Steve getting all het up about their friends seeing him in his underwear is the least of his worries.

Steve reappeared a couple of minutes later, wearing a fresh t-shirt and buttoning up his favourite pair of jeans and Bucky had to chuckle at the sight of his feet shoved into a pair of flip-flops because seriously, Steve Rogers wearing flip-flops was almost as ridiculous as the God of Thunder wearing shorts

“You might want to rethink your sartorial choice yourself,” Steve told Bucky as he finished with the jeans and ran his fingers through his hair.

Bucky looked down and realised that yeah, he was wearing his rattiest pair of sweat pants and an equally threadbare t-shirt, both of which he’d pulled out of the laundry pile when he changed out of his combat gear.

“I’ll, ah, just go and...” he stared to say, but stopped when he suddenly found himself being pulled to his feet and into Steve’s arms. Bucky wound his arms around Steve in return, metal gripping his shoulder and flesh slipped under the hem of his t-shirt to warm the hollow of his back.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” Steve whispered into Bucky’s hair.

“I know you are.”

“But I can’t say it’ll never happen again, Buck, you know I can’t.”

“It goes with the job, yeah, I know,” Bucky sighed as he tightened his hold on Steve, burying his face in his neck and breathing him in. And to be fair, it’s not like he hadn’t given Steve considerable cause to worry over the years, what with his own chequered past and reckless disregard for personal safety. It was just something they both had to live with.

Steve exhaled softly and pulled him in closer, his fingers digging into Bucky’s shoulders as Bucky turned his head to kiss Steve’s neck, the angle of his jaw and finally his mouth. Steve gave a soft, breathy moan as his lips parted under Bucky’s, and for a fleeting moment Bucky wanted nothing more than to take Steve to bed and wallow in him for as long as he could.

They were still standing like that when the sound of Jane and Darcy’s laughter drifted in from the hallway and Clint popped his head through the fire escape window and said, “Guys, you’ve gotta come and save me. Tony’s making hotdog S’mores and seriously, my cholesterol levels just can’t take it.”

 

 

FIN

 


End file.
